Picture Perfect
by thewriterwhocameinfromthecold
Summary: The team returns to New York to track a serial poisoner, forcing Hotch to deal with the aftermath of the explosion. Post Mayhem. HotchPrentiss
1. Prologue

Tonight was the night. It had to be. The chaos was invading again. If he didn't act quickly, it would be too late, and the chaos would get her. He couldn't have that. He loved her far too much to allow her to be lost forever to that insidious force that threatened to engulf everyone. He pictured her in his mind. That long flowing hair, shimmering with the obvious care that had been put into it. The softness of her skin and the idealistic glimmer in her eyes, as she smiled that radiant smile which made his heart ache. He cared far too much to allow that delightful smile to be wiped away forever, or to see that glimmer leave her eyes as reality set in and she lost herself to the pain of living. He thought of her face, withered by worry and time, until she lost everything that made her shine. A wave of revulsion washed over him as he brought his fist down on the arm rest.

No! He would save her. She deserved far better than what was coming; and he would protect her from it. He had to. He had watched her carefully, as he had all the others. Looking for any signs, any hints of the pain that would come. He had followed her from work to her home, to make sure that no one disturbed her while she made it back safely. He was her guardian angel. Eventually, it wasn't enough just to guard while she went back and forth between the office and her house; and for him to go to his own job while she worked. There were so many things that could sneak up on you without realizing it; and he would be remiss if he didn't go the extra mile to ensure that she remained safe.

So he took a personal day and let himself into her apartment, once he had made sure that she was safe at work. He had been gratified when he realized that she had several locks on her door. One couldn't be too careful in this day and age. Far too many weirdos about. Nonetheless, he couldn't protect her if he didn't see what was going on inside her home. So he took his first big risk. He invented a pretext to go to her workplace, where he would be able to walk about unnoticed. He had taken her house key off of her key ring and had gotten a copy made while she was on her lunch break. He knew the exact time and place she took her lunch everyday. There was no chance that she woud notice. Then he had simply returned the key to her ring, while she had taken a bathroom break. It had all been done with no one the wiser.

Since that day, he had used his key everyday that he could manage to go in without being noticed. He looked everything over, looking for the signs. He knew them well. Finally, as he was sorting through her mail this morning, he had found the terrible letter. It was the sign. The time had come. So he sat in his car across the street, waiting for her to return home. It was Friday, and he knew that she would be home shortly. The rumble of an engine caught his attention and he turned to see her car make its way down the road and pull into her driveway across the street. She stepped out of the car. He reached into his glove compartment and removed the small case, shoving back any fear or reservations. It was time.

He waited a few minutes until she was inside. It would be a few minutes before she was ready for bed. She always went to bed this late. Once he saw the upstairs light off, he would wait a few minutes to be safe and then he could make his move. It would be easy. He knew from experience that she didn't have a burglar alarm. He had never been happy about that, but in this case, it seemed to be working in his favour.

Finally, the light had gone out. He got out of the car and moved from shadow to shadow as he made his way up to the porch, and slid his key into the lock. Turning slowly, making as little noise as possible. He turned the knob, and with the utmost care slowly pushed the door open. He took off his shoes and padded alone the carpeted hallway and made his way up the stairs. He came to her door, and took the syringe he had ready, and made his way slowly to her sleeping form. He stood over her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, as she slept peacefully on her back, savouring these last signs of life before his duty must be done. He prepped the syringe. This was meant to be quick. He couldn't bear to hurt her.

He quickly plunged the syringe into her neck and injected the solution. He pulled back, and set the syringe on the bed side table, watching as the rise and fall ceased. He reached down, running his fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.


	2. Chapter 1

The official request form, from the NYPD, had landed on Jennifer Jareau's desk in early March a year earlier. Four deaths over six years. All of the victims were young women, found dead in their beds, a syringe by their bedside, having apparently been injected with a barbiturate solution. It had taken a while for the police to piece together the connections between all the victims. The first victim, Erika Chambers, medical student, had been described by her friends showing signs of depression, so her death had originally been ruled a suicide due to her having access to the necessary drugs. The next victim's was labelled suspicious circumstances, homicide suspected, but no suspects were found and the case went cold. No connection was made between the two deaths; or the next one. The fourth case nearly got missed entirely, but it was ultimately what provided a connection. A hard partying college coed was found in her bed. She'd had history of drug abuse, so until the autopsy confirmed the presence of poison, it was assumed that it was a drug overdose or a suicide. The realization that it was murder did nothing to conjure up suspects; and this case too went cold, and remained that way until the case file accidentally landed in the hands of Detective David Stark, who worked cold cases. Taking a look at the photos of the scene, he spotted something odd about the way the body was posed – with the legs straight and the hands neatly folded, there was little doubt of it having been posed – and something familiar.

File in hand, he ran to his desk and dug through the papers until he found what he was looking for. A case from a year ago. The victim, Lauren Duschene, had been posed in exactly the same way. After some digging it became apparent to the detective that all four deaths were connected, which meant that the city had a serial killer. And so the request was sent to the FBI for a consult, which naturally was placed in the hands of Agent Jareau. Unfortunately, the connections between the four deaths were tenuous to say the least, and method of dispatch unusual – if all the deaths were indeed the work of the same killer. The other unfortunate fact was that the request was ill-timed, arriving together with a request from the Atlanta PD, dealing with a serial rapist who had graduated to murder; and a suspected child killer in Dallas. So the file was set aside. The NYPD never followed up, unsure themselves of Det. Stark's theories, so once again the case went cold.

That is until a year later, when said detective turned up in Quantico, in the early hours of the morning, standing in front JJ's office door. JJ cast a perplexed stare at the tall man leaning against her door frame, as she walked toward her office, briefcase and coffee in hand. She stopped short of the door as the man looked up from the floor to see her coming.

JJ looked at him expectantly, "Can I help you?"

"Agent Jareau?" He asked in a soft voice.

JJ nodded, "And you are?"

"Detective David Stark, NYPD," He extended his hand, "Forgive me for showing up here like this; but after all this time it seemed like the only way to get you to meet with me."

JJ shook his hand, raising an eyebrow, at this unexpected and uninvited guest. It one didn't have to be as smart as Reid to figure out why the man was here. The nation was full of dedicated officers of the law, with plenty of unsolved cases, seeking the FBI's help. Unfortunately, while all of them passed over her desk, only a fraction ever got seen by the BAU. Every now and then, one of the officers whose requests had been rejected would turn up in Quantico to make their case. It would seem that this Stark had taken it upon himself to do the same, as evidenced by the file folders in his hand.

JJ opened her door and walked in. Stark took the lack of a rejection as invitation to follow, and stood in front of her desk waiting for her to face him again. When finally she had set down her case and turned, she was surprised, when he ran his hand through his dark hair and gave her a look bordering on embarrassed.

"I am sorry for the intrusion," he told her, "but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't try my hardest." He held out the stack of folders in his hand, "There's something going on in New York; and I could really use the BAU's help."

It was against JJ's better judgment to listen. The BAU was currently flooded with cases, all of them involving unsubs, whose violence was escalating. But in the end, what was one more case file? If it didn't meet the necessary level of urgency then, she would do her job and politely reject the request as she had done entirely. In the meantime, she might as well hear him out.

"Show me."


	3. Chapter 2

"So what's the case?" Morgan asked, as he settled in to his seat. His curiosity was shared by all in the room. No sooner had they arrived, they were whisked away to the conference room for a briefing; none of them commenting on the apparent newcomer in the room, who stood in the corner, leaning against the wall. His eyes occasionally flickered over the group and then back to JJ as she began the briefing.

"The NYPD suspects they have a serial killer who has claimed eight victims in the last six years. All eight were found in their homes, like this." She brought up the image of Erika Chambers. Her body was laid flat, her legs straight, and her hands neatly folded. Her eyes were also open. The body looked completely at peace, except for the apparent puncture mark.

Morgan's eyebrows went up, and he leaned forward taking in every detail. "Definitely posed," he said, mildly.

"Yes," Stark spoke for the first time, and all heads turned to face the newcomer. "That was how we made the connection between all the cases. We couldn't figure out what the significance was, though."

In answer to the unasked question, JJ gestured towards Stark, "This is Detective David Stark of the NYPD."

Rossi nodded and then turned his gaze back the screen. "The posing is obviously part of his ritual. Some need compels him to pose them like that. Perhaps its how he prefers to see them."

"The killings are almost clinical," Reid spoke without looking up from the case file, "No sexual component."

"Sexual component?" Stark asked.

"Statistically, a high number of serial killers are acting to gain release for some sort of repressed impulse. Killers who are impotent often use knives as a surrogate for actual sexual violation. The lack of violence suggests an absence of such an uncontrolled urge."

"And a lack of a sadistic intent as well." Rossi added, "If they felt any pain, they would have died quick enough that it wouldn't be apparent to the unsub."

Morgan got up and approached the board. "Okay, so we've got a guy who targets women, but its not just to see them die. So the question is why these women? Why does he want them dead; and what is it about for him, if not their pain?"

Stark smiled. It had worked. He had convinced Jareau, and the most famous team of profilers in America were going over the case, with apparent interest. "They told me you guys were good." He remarked, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the exchange with interest.

"Why wasn't this case brought up earlier?" Emily wanted to know.

"A request was sent in a year ago, but it was denied." JJ responded. No one needed to ask why. As the team liaison, JJ chose which cases the team profiled on a basis of urgency. If the request was rejected, it came from her.

Both Hotch and Stark felt a certain admiration for the slight blonde woman before them. It wasn't easy to remain stoic and admit that you rejected a request in front the person who made the request in the first place; and while Hotch was better acquainted, both men understood the pressures of such a responsibility.

"A year ago, the connections we made in New York were circumstantial at best." Stark informed them, "The first case had already been ruled a suicide and there was nothing to connect the women specifically."

"What's different this time?" Hotch wanted to know.

"This." JJ advanced the projector to the next slide. "This is a timeline of the killings."

A set of dates were projected onto the screen. There was a great distance between each of the first five victims. The closest apart being eight months; but next victim had been killed three months after the previous one. The next one a month and a half; and latest occurred twenty-seven days after.

"He's escalating." Reid observed.

Hotch nodded, "Whatever his need is, he's losing control of it. Everyone get ready. Wheels up in half an hour."

The team began to disperse. Heading for the door. Stark turned to JJ.

"Wheels up?" He asked.

JJ patted him on the shoulder. "You got their attention. They're going to New York."


End file.
